


Non-Growing Pains

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hints of Kuraku, Hints of Kuroken, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were times, usually when he watched Kuroo draping his arms over Kenma, or slyly winking at Kai to wind him up, when Yaku Morisuke wondered about boys, and what it would be like to have that ease and freedom to be what you were.</p><p>The trouble being, he didn’t know what he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the YakuLev week on tumblr. The prompt was 'Realisation'. 
> 
> Apologies for OOC'ness, but I've never written them before.

Every night for over three years from when he was thirteen, Yaku Morisuke would fall asleep and pray he’d grow.  He thought if he willed it, if he dreamt it, if he stretched out his toes as far as they’d reach down the bed (getting fifty shades of cramp in the process) then when he woke in morning he’d be taller. It’s not as if he wanted to be over two metres. He’d settle for another ten centimetres.

Or seven.

Or five. These days he’d settle for five more bloody centimetres, so at least he could tilt his head down when he talked to Kenma.

Not that he wanted to lord it over Kenma, but as it stood, Yaku was the shortest member of Nekoma High Volleyball Team.  Hell, he was the shortest person in his year and it was pissing him off.

When he was fourteen, there’d been a show on TV – one of the shock/horror medical programmes, which his mum had loved  - and he’d caught some of it when he was searching for pens under the futon.  That one episode, they’d operated on someone’s legs adding six inches to his height. Yaku had stayed to watch, engrossed, and the next morning he’d asked his mum about it.

“Would it be expensive?”

“Would what be expensive, Suke-chan?”

“That guy who had his legs operated on. Did he pay a lot of money?”

“I expect so,” she murmured, not really listening.

“Could we ... uh ... could we afford it?”

“Hmm?”

“It could be my present for the next ten years,” he begged.

“Leg extensions?” To his mum’s credit, she tried hard to hold it together.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded wildly.

“For you?”

“Mmm. On that show last night. They broke that guy’s legs and stretched them with that metal implant thing. He went up to six foot-“

His mum chuckled, sure he was joking. “Americans are stupid. They’re always looking to fix things. Even things that aren’t broken. They have money to burn.” Ruffling his hair, she continued, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Suke.”

“I don’t want to be this short going into High School,” he mumbled. “And I could bear it. I can take the pain, and –“

His mum stopped laughing, finally realising he was serious. “Yaku Morisuke,” she said firmly, placing her fingers under his chin. “That man was sick ... sick in the head. There is no way on earth and all the stars that we’d put you through an operation like that.” His face must have drooped, because she smiled and then smoothed back a lock of hair behind his ear. “Besides you are still growing. Your Uncle Shoto, he was a little guy like you, but he shot up when he got to sixteen.”

Yaku pulled a face. He didn’t want to wait that long, but, yeah, his Uncle Shoto was nearly six foot, so maybe he had a chance.

 

But he hadn’t shot up at all. There was no chance, or precious little, anyway. At seventeen, and about to enter his third year, he was the same height he’d been when he joined Nekoma High. Nothing had changed. Short arse Yaku, who could only play Libero.

 “You know that’s not true, don’t ya?” Kuroo told him, interrupting his moans.

“I’m short, no one’s going to let me spike the ball.”

“But you’re playing Libero ‘cause you’re the best, Yaku, not ‘cause you’re short. I mean, you’re not far off Kenma’s height, but he could never do what you do.”

The thought of Kenma leaping to the floor, returning serves and not dodging out of receives, was so ridiculous that the pair of them fell about laughing.

Kuroo had that effect on people. When he wanted to, he’d always find a way to make them feel better about themselves. But then again, when he was pissed off, he’d snap them back to the ground.

Yaku guessed he was lucky because Kuroo never found it necessary to take him down. Most of the time he knew it was because Kuroo was cool with him, but then there’d be other times when he wondered if it was because Kuroo couldn’t be arsed.

 

His mum told him now that his height didn’t matter because girls hated being dwarfed by lanky guys.  But then she’d told his sister that tall guys liked short girls because it made them feel more protective.

Yaku hadn’t worked out how to tell her that he didn’t really mind what girls preferred.   _That_ revelation had come clear to him a two months before, when against his own instincts, he’d been persuaded on a double date with Kai to the local coffee shop. The two girls were from their school, and had been nice enough, Yaku supposed. But the shorter of the two, Aimi (paired with him, obviously) had started to press herself up to him when he’d given her the obligatory kiss goodbye and hinted strongly that she’d love to see him again.

Known for being a nice guy, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings, so he’d agreed, and then the following weekend had taken her to the movies. A safe date, he’d thought, because lots of people would be there, and he wouldn’t have to think of things to say. After they could grab some food from a stall, or nip to a noodle bar, and if the conversation stuck, they could always discuss the film.

But Aimi hadn’t been interested in the film. She’d been far more interested in Yaku’s lips, and glued herself to them, much to his regret. Then she’d started splaying her hand on his leg, and he’d been so surprised, he’d jerked away spilling popcorn and coke over the pair of them.

A disastrous date, Aimi had sulked, refused to go to the noodle bar, and insisted he walk her home. He would have done anyway, but it was awkward because she pouted all the time and the silence between them was stickier than the coke and popcorn mess on his trousers.

At least she hadn’t wanted a goodnight kiss, but had stomped inside her apartment block, with only the merest of goodbyes.

 

“She won’t want to see me again,” he told both Kai and Kuroo, when they cornered him in the canteen on the Monday.

“Do you want to see her, though?” Kai had asked. “Only, Kiku’s suggested another double date.”

“Uh...” He hesitated.

Kuroo had done his usual staring-intently-from-under-his- hair-his- face –impassive- apart- from- the- small- grin expression (the expression that only Kenma could ignore) and drawled, “If you liked her, Yaks, you’d have been bugging her by now. Bought flowers and stuff, or messaged her. You’da been checking your phone every five minutes to see whether she’d forgiven ya.” He took a long drink from his water bottle, replaced the cap, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “She’s a cute girl, and she liked ya enough to want a date, so ...”

“Maybe she’s not my type,” Yaku said.

“Since when did you have a type?” Kai hooted. “She was the first girl you ever took out!”

“And last, I think,” Kuroo whispered, really quietly so only Yaku could hear.

  
He fixed his eyes on Kai. “I’ll think about it.

Arching one eyebrow, Kuroo said nothing, but let his words to plunge into Yaku’s psyche as he tipped back on his chair, and started chatting to Kai about summer training camp.  

Had Kuroo worked it out? Yaku didn’t know how. Maybe it was because he averted his eyes when they got changed. But staring at a guy’s chest or legs, for whatever reason, wasn’t something he wanted to be caught doing. It wasn’t as if he fancied any of his teammates (at least he didn’t think so) but rather he didn’t want to look because he knew he’d hate himself even more in comparison.

Yet there were times, usually when he watched Kuroo draping his arms over Kenma, or slyly winking at Kai to wind him up, when Yaku wondered about boys, and what it would be like to have that ease and freedom to be what you were.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure he was gay. All he knew was that he didn’t fancy Aimi, particularly, and wasn’t bothered about asking out another girl. It was fine for Kuroo, who had the morals of the alley cats he so resembled, and the don’t-care attitude towards anyone who called him out. He’d fight his corner, having not only height and strength, but sheer presence to take on the world and its bigoted wife.

But Yaku was short. Not just in height, but on charisma, too. The team ‘Mama’ they called him now the third years had gone because he was the one who remembered the crap like towels, and water bottles, and organised them all to tidy up.

No one called Kuroo ‘Papa’. He was the scandalous older brother who whipped them all into shape. Yet as much as his sharp tongue had cowed him when they’d first met, Yaku knew now he was someone he could talk to. Take advice from. Maybe even make sense of this mess in his head and body.

 

Although not his usual route, Yaku tagged along with Kuroo and Kenma when they walked home after practise. Kenma was stuck into a game, his headphones on, which gave him plenty of opportunity to talk to Kuroo. Thing was, although he had the chance, words kept sticking in his throat, so he listened to Kuroo talking about the ‘owl guy’ from Fukurodani and tried to work his way through whatever block was stopping his lips from forming.

Kenma stalled by an alleyway, his thumbs pressing firmly on the buttons as he navigated a particularly hard obstacle, so Kuroo came to a halt and leant against a wall.

“So ... you going to call that girl?”

Yaku shook his head.

“Not even for Kai. Only the girl he likes has only agreed to double dates.”

“Yeah, which was why I agreed to go the first time. But what’s the point?” He swallowed, the scratchy lump in his throat at last dissolving as he broached the subject of their lunchtime conversation. “Why did you say she’d be my last girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Kuroo blinked a little. “It was a joke. A wind up. But  ... uh ... why are you so flustered about it?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Oh ... you think she’ll be your last too, dontcha? Why? Are you thinkin’ no girl will ever want to go out with ya?”

“Uh ... yeah ... that’s it.”

Kuroo leant over and ruffled Yaku’s hair. “Nah, you’re too cute, Yaks. Girls love ya.” He gave a ghost of a wink, and whispered, even though there was no chance Kenma could hear, “Boys too.”

“Uh...” Yaku gulped. Kuroo was so close now, he could see the small tufts of almost stubble sprouting above his upper lip. And his lips ... Yaku had never realised quite how dark red they were. And thin. And dangerous.

 _Shit, is he going to kiss me?_  

And then another panic set in.

_Should I let him?_

And then, just as Yaku tilted his chin up, Kuroo twisted away, dusting his mouth instead on Yaku’s cheek. A kiss so soft it was as if it had never happened.

“Relax,” Kuroo said. “You’re not my type.”

Yaku spluttered and stepped back, bumping his head on the wall in his hurry to get away. “You git! Why are you winding me up?”

“Experiment,” Kuroo replied. “I was curious, and I think you were, too. But ... uh ...” He looked unexpectedly flustered and ashamed, his eyes flickering from side to side.  “You’re a friend. A good one, and I wouldn’t want to fuck that up, so I pulled away... I’m sorry.”

Torn between relief and frustration, Yaku slouched against the wall. He took several breaths, trying to calm himself before he replied. Kuroo was a git, a sneaky git, a bloody horrible bastard of a sneaky git, and he wanted to yell, or kick or slap him, but ...

 _He’s right,_ Yaku realised miserably. _Maybe that’s why I wanted to walk home with him. But also, he’s my friend and I can’t ruin that._

But before he could phrase a reply, Kenma turned his face towards the pair of them. “You really aren’t his type, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Since when were you listening?”

Kenma shrugged, unconcerned at the hostility in Kuroo’s voice. “I died on level four.”

“Why aren’t I his type?” asked Yaku, genuinely curious.

“I don’t have a type!” breezed Kuroo. “Kenma’s making it up. There’s no such thing as types. You either hit it off with someone, or you don’t. You want to snog or ... uh ... take it further, but that ain’t got anything to do with hair colour, or whatever shit they spout in chicks’ magazines.”

“Taking care of strays – that’s Kuro’s,” Kenma interrupted, a small smile on his face as he avoided the cuff to the back of the head Kuroo sent his way. “It’s contradictory, ‘cause he likes bating them, but you don’t match on either count.”

_I don’t?_

His confusion must have been obvious because Kenma removed his earphones and even placed his game back in its case. “You keep us in line, Yaku-san, but in a quieter way. That’s not Kuro’s thing at all.”

“Hey, I don’t have a thing! I’m unique.”  Picking up his bag, Kuroo slung it over one shoulder. “And I’m hungry. Come on, little stray,” he mocked. “Catch ya tomorrow, Yaks.”

Kenma sighed a little and started to follow, but before he could leave, Yaku plucked at his sleeve.

“What would you say my thing was then, Kenma?”

“You’re a Libero,” Kenma replied.

“What does that mean?”

“He means you like to make things safe!” Kuroo catcalled. “That’s why you’re the Nekoma mama, purring around us all and swishing your tail when anything attacks.”

“I still don’t understand!” Yaku yelled after them, but the pair of them didn’t look back.

 

He didn’t ask again. Kuroo smirked as soon as he saw him the next day, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d been riled. He smoothed an impassive expression on his face, paid attention in class, turned up for practise and ignored the sly looks his Captain was giving him. As for Kenma, despite his uncanny perception, he had shrunk back into himself and his new game, only paying attention during practise.

There were no more dates with Aimi, or any other girl Kai and Kiko suggested. Pretending his grades were suffering, Yaku took to studying at lunchtime, and locking himself away at home. The only exception was summer training camp, and he made sure he took out whatever frustrations were worming at him in the matches.

“Nice receive!” shouted Kai, when Yaku returned a spike from Fukoradani’s ace.

“Gah!  That guy’s got the safest hands in the prefecture!” Bokuto yelled.

“You better believe it,” Kuroo yelled back, and strolling over, he held out his hand to Yaku. “You okay down there, Yaks?”

 “Fine. He’s got quicker, and sharper.”

“Yeah, but with you watching our backs, Mama Cat, we’re safe.”

_Safe. Is that what I am?_

 

***

“I’m about to go!” he called to his mum.

“Did you finish your breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“And clean your teeth?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll be home when?”

“Probably late. I’ve got volleyball but it’s the first one, so we’ll be assessing the new guys. I might go back to Kuroo’s or Kai’s after. Is that okay?”

“Text me.”

Despite shouting from her bedroom, his mum wandered down the stairs just before he left. “Ah, my beautiful boy,” she said, squeezing his cheeks. “Final year. You’re all grown up.”

Grown, yeah. This was it. One metre sixty- five centimetres. Fifteen centimetres short of Uncle Shoto.  Even leg extensions wouldn’t help him now.

But what the hell? He was a Libero. He had a team. He had a part to play in their success – major part. And this year was his final year of High School, he wasn’t going to countenance any distractions.  He, Kuroo and Kai wanted to get to Nationals. They had to focus, get stronger, blend as a team – especially with the new first years about to land on them. Not that he envisaged any real problems. They’d studied the lists and the Junior High kids coming to Nekoma had all had a good grounding in volleyball. There were no wild cards expected.

Safe kids.

First years who wouldn’t cause him too many problems. Sweet kouhais, eager to learn. Respectful. Safe kids who’d blend in well, and usher Nekoma to Nationals.

There were two reasonable first years in the first batch, Inuoka an enthusiastic boy who’d played Middle Blocker in Junior High. Not too bright, but eager and able to follow instructions. Another boy, Yūki Shibayama, said in a muted voice that he was a Libero. Yaku smiled; he was reasonably sure his place was secure, but he always encouraged new talent.

So it was all going well (apart from Yamamoto bragging that he’d grown four centimetres over summer). After stretches, Kuroo fired balls at the new guys, Kai was working on serves and Kenma was ignoring Yamamoto,  who was pestering him to toss. Yaku decided to receive, rolling over the floor whenever Kai served. It was fine. A safe practise. An appreciation of the old and new talent.

_Sa-_

“Excuse me. Is this volleyball?”

Lying on his back, Yaku looked across to where the voice had come from. Or tried to. But all he could see at the door, with the sunlight streaming in, was a supermodel. A supermodel already dressed for sport in the skimpiest of shorts and an untucked shirt. It was as if a crop- haired cross between Charlize Theron and Maria Sharapova had stepped into their small corner of Tokyo.  Legs to her armpits, beautifully smooth, shaped calves, honed thighs and ...

_Get a grip!_

“Wrong gymnasium,” he called out hurriedly, and rolled over onto his stomach.  “The girls’ tryouts are –”

The supermodel stepped into the gym. She tilted her head, fixed him with a look, and then he realised.

_Oh, sweet fucking hell!_

“Yeah.” He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the croak it seemed to have acquired. “This is volleyball try-outs. But you’re late.”

The newcomer tilted himself forwards, peering down at Yaku. “I’ve only just decided I’d like to give this a go. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Not at all,” Kuroo called across the court.  He ducked a ball fired back at him from Inuoka, and strolled across. “Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m the Captain. Our coach isn’t here yet, but you’re welcome to join in.”

“Haiba Lev,” announced the boy.

“Lef? Leth?  Huh ... what sorta name’s that?” demanded Kuroo.

“My mother’s Russian,” he explained, encompassing everyone with a crooked smile.  “And you pronounce it ‘Leaf’.”

“You’ve transferred from another school, have ya?” Kuroo asked, sizing him up.

“Um, Junior High,” Lev said. He waved at Shibiyama. “We were classmates.”

“You’re a first year!” Yaku sank back to the floor.

“Mmm, Class Three,” Lev switched his attention back to Yaku, the slow half smile on his face, perfectly accentuating wide Slavic eyes,. “I haven’t seen you around, so I suppose you must be either very clever, or a little dumb.”

Kuroo purred out a laugh, the sound irritating Yaku further. He got to his feet, scowled as hard as he could, and raised his chin (gritting his teeth when he found himself looking directly at Lev’s chest). “I’m Class Five, so very clever,” he snarled. “I’m also Year Three, so I’m your  fucking senpai, Haiba-kun!”

Kai dropped the ball. Yamamoto stopped spiking. Kuroo gaped. Even Kenma looked their way. The fact of Yaku swearing, losing it with a first year, when he was the very personification of patience (even with Yamamoto) jolted them all out of practise.

Startled, Lev’s smile left his face. “But you’re so litt-”

“DON’T!” Kuroo held up his hand and pushed Lev away from a fuming Yaku. “Uh ... let’s get registration forms sorted out. Kai, you got them?”

“Sure, sure.” Kai bustled over, casting one sidelong glance at Yaku, before steering Haiba Lev over to the relative security of the other side of the net.

“Fucking prick!” Yaku seethed. “What fucking right ... What does he think he’s fucking doing coming in here? Just-”

“Fuck?” suggested Kuroo, snorting.

What the hell was wrong with him? Since when did anger make his hands so clammy, and his heart go thudder-thudder?  Haiba Lev was just an annoying and tactless first year. He was signing registration forms, but that meant nothing. Because he’d never played before, he’d probably quit in a month.

_Hell, he’s bending over the table. His legs ... His arse in those shorts ... Fuck! Get a grip, Suke. Get a fucking grip._

He wiped his palms on his shorts and took several  calming breaths. He could do this.

But then Kuroo leant closer, placing his hand on Yaku’s shoulder. “What’s got you so riled? Is it our new recruit? Luscious Lev.”

 “You’re a wind-up merchant, that’s all.” he replied, his voice softer now. “Haiba’s annoying, and I’m pissed off with you for ... for ... pissing around all the time.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Interesting. It’s just like Kenma said. You’re our Libero, so you like to make things safe. You sort us out, and take pride in that. And you’re always so calm, but underneath it all, I reckon, Yaku-san, that you get off on conflict, and the need to put it right.”

“Fucking bollocks!” The urge to smack Kuroo hard in the mouth had never visited him with such intensity. “That would mean I’d get off on you, you jerk!”

Kuroo waved a hand at him. “Pfft. You always resort to abuse when you know I’m right.”

“Get lost, Kuroo!” Yaku seethed.

“Face it, Yaks,” drawled Kuroo, inclining his head towards Kai and Lev. “I think you’ve just found your type.”


End file.
